


The Price of Peace

by drelfina



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/F, Founders Era, Genderswap, fem!Hashirama, fem!madara - Freeform, period accurate attitudes and sexism, period accurate behaviour, period accurate gender roles, that's one way to break the cycle of hatred and animosity, trollolololol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23012947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drelfina/pseuds/drelfina
Summary: Hashirama was sleeping in the garden again.Madara went to wake her.How does the story proceed, when the surviving children of the Uchiha and Senju clan heads are all girls?
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 29
Kudos: 58





	The Price of Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Perelka_L](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perelka_L/gifts).



> a gift for Perelka_L. 
> 
> :P 
> 
> (And yes, Hashirama still has her mokuton, Madara might well have sharingan - maybe mangekyou. but what does it really matter, if all they are meant for is how much they can buy with their marriage?)

Hashirama was sleeping in the garden again. 

Her hair was loose - stupidly straight, and therefore despite its thickness, would fall out of any and all styles unless literally sewn into place. 

So right now, loose, her knee length hair was slipping like a curtain of heavy dark silk over her shoulder. 

She looked like a painting. 

Madara slipped forward on silent feet; Hashirama was no sensor, unlike her younger sister, and therefore would not be alerted. 

But Madara was almost in her lap, crouched down and reaching to tuck a thick lock behind Hashirama's ear, when her eyes fluttered open. 

"You were faking being asleep?" Madara said.

"Would you yell, if I said I was?" Hashirama's smile was sleepy, that measure of crooked, and private for Madara alone. 

It was like that smile that she'd seen, long ago, when they were both children, training to be warriors and unaware of how close the looming fate a woman in clans such as theirs always had. 

Not that she - or well, Hashirama, too - were _ignorant_ , no. A girl's job was to become a woman, and a woman's was to become a wife, carrying with her the potential of new life, but more importantly, _alliance_. 

Doubly so, for the daughters of the Clan Leader. 

Madara had been the third child of Uchiha Tajima, but the first daughter, so alliance could have been bought with her brothers' wives, from any one of the other families Tajima had wanted to. Madara's own hand could have been held in reserve, as could her younger sister's. 

Not quite so, for Hashirama. First of four daughters, Madara had never been entirely sure if Hashirama had expected to buy her father an heir with her dowry, or alliance. 

(Hashirama had been frank. She had never been her father's favourite, unlike Tobirama. "Because," Hashirama said, "I remind him too much of himself, and yet how much I am _not_." One such as Butsuma would never have had to consider the possibilities of _leaving_ one's clan for alliance, after all.) 

"I would call you a liar," Madara said, watching the other side of Hashirama's mouth quirk up. 

"You know me too well," Hashirama said, and reached out to catch Madara's wrist. 

Up close, like this, it was obvious how their colouring was so different. Hashirama was just naturally a little darker, a little browner, in complexion, but while her hair was perfect in texture and weight, it was too light to be mistaken for anything but brown. Madara, on the other hand, knew what she looked like - the pale, almost slender ideal, hair black as actual ink, but for the texture - too curly on the best of days, prone to fluffing during the humid months, an untamed mess that took hours to style for events. 

Next to each other, neither looked the proper part. 

"Stay a while, sister," Hashirama said, softly. 

"Or what, your grass would hold me down anyway?" 

"Would I do that?" Hashirama said, eyes wide and guileless. 

Madara rolled her eyes. 

"Since you're awake, I should tell you that it's past time to return to your rooms, you know what day it is," Madara said, trying for sharp, but all she managed was firm. 

She couldn't make herself get up.

"It's at least -" Hashirama glanced away to check the shadows; Madara snorted. Hashirama was too well-trained to _need_ to be so obvious, but this was what they were now. "- two more hours." 

"And you fuss and whine and take forever to get ready anyway," Madara said. 

"There's a lot to choose from," Hashirama whined. "I don't like _choosing_ all those layers." 

"Let the servants do it," Madara said, and it would be rude, if it weren't for the fact that Hashirama's thumb was stroking over Madara's wrist, the now softened callous tickling sensitive, thin skin. "You're a Senju after all, don't you all know how to wear all that _silk_?" 

"We make it," Hashirama said. "We don't _wear_ it." 

"Liar." 

"Mm. You have an easier time," Hashirama said. "Just two main colours. You always look like a ma-" she inhaled. "A married woman." 

Neither of them said anything about the word that Hashirama almost said. 

A _man_. 

If Madara had been a man. Or Hashirama, really. if Madara's brothers hadn't died, if only the peace had come sooner, somehow. 

Instead, it was this. This was what they were. 

"You know," Madara said, lightly, "I _am_ a married woman." 

Hashirama's eyes were dark, even though she kept that smile. "Yes, I know." 

"And besides," Madara said. "it's not like you could have married _me_." 

Or vice-versa. Certainly, Senju Butsuma had never once considered marrying any of his daughters to any of Madara's brothers; _alliance_ in that manner was asking for a knife in the back. Tajima would _never_ have agreed. 

They were _shinobi_ , not samurai.

They might have been the same age, her and Hashirama, they might have been friends, when they still had been children enough to run barefoot across a river bed and throw stones at each other. 

If they both had been boys - Madara her father's only surviving heir, Hashirama's Butsuma's first son... maybe they would have had a chance. Perhaps, as clan leaders, they might have made... something. 

Madara reached up, curling fingers around the silky-straight lock, knuckles brushing against Hashirama's cheek. 

"Ah, hah, of course not," Hashirama said, voice and laughter light, perfect for the Daimyo's concubine.

 _One_ of the Daimyo's concubines, really. Both of them. 

A bird called, and Hashirama turned, perhaps to look at it, and incidentally brushed her lips against Madara's knuckles. 

Madara exhaled, slowly. Evenly. 

"We never," Madara said, very, very softly, "Could have." 

If they had been boys, Madara knew, there would have been just more fighting, just like how their fathers had been, and their father's fathers. 

No marriage ever would have tethered the clans together. 

That was how it was. That was how it should be. 

"There's no point talking about what-ifs," Madara continued. 

"Well," Hashirama said, tone light for all that her lips were brushing against Madara's knuckles, "it's not like we can change anything, can we? Just making silly, fantasy talk." 

"Silly," Madara agreed, turning her othr hand, the one Hashirama was still holding, so she could trace her own fingers against Hashirama's wrist. 

Hashirama hummed, maybe she was about to say something more, but then she stilled. 

"Hashirama-sama! Hashirama-sama! Are you out here?" 

"Aah," Hashirama said. "Ah yes, I am." 

She pulled back, but when Madara tried to pull her hand back, Hashirama tightened her grip just a fraction. 

"Hashirama," Madara said, warningly. 

"Oh, oh there you are!" the servant looked between them, but to Madara's senses, obviously saw nothing amiss. 

What would she see amiss anyway? Two concubines of the Daimyo's, getting along in a sisterly fashion - at least there would be no _drama_ from these quarters. 

"Hashirama-sama, we need to get you ready, the Daimyo will be wishing to see you tonight!" 

"Ah, ah, I know," Hashirama said, and finally loosened her grip on Madara's hand enough Madara could get back to her feet, and could tug Hashirama up too. "I suppose you were right, Madara," Hashirama said, looking at Madara's hand still on Hashirama's, and then up to her eyes. 

(Hashirama had always, always met her eyes, even after she'd found out.) 

"I'm always right," Madara said. 

"Mm." Hashirama smiled, perfectly even and perfectly court-ready, and turned to follow her servant back to her rooms. 

Madara curled her hand over her wrist, right where the warm spot where Hashirama's thumb had been, as she watched Hashirama leave the gardens. 

Of course she was right. 

And maybe this was for the best. 

Marriage, for them, had never been a matter of choice; the weight of destiny had always fallen heavier on women.

But in the end, at least, they were both together, peace bought for a generation. 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Period accurate EVERYTHING, right down to the highly probable f/f bangings going on in the concubine harems of East Asian men LOLOLOLOL after all, that kind of behaviour would just be interpreted as "being really sisterly!" 
> 
> So basically, i imagine that the Daimyo got SICK of the war and demanded a daughter from both Uchiha and the Senju clan heads - and forcibly brought about peace by making both his concubines. 
> 
> It results in no one fighting to the death, no stabbing Madara in the back etc, but ... 
> 
> the village never gets formed. :D 
> 
> but hey, Madara and Hashirama get to be together! 
> 
> This way, they buy peace for a generation at least. 
> 
> ~~And I imagine Mito is a man and probably marries into Butsuma's family because Butsuma sure as fuck isn't going to let Tobirama go. :D So Mito/Tobira? :P~~


End file.
